


after the party, it's the

by temerity (forsanethaec)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Drunk Sex, Hotel Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsanethaec/pseuds/temerity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jesus, Tommo,” Niall gasps, pulling back, “at least get me in a stall first.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Louis says with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Where are my manners.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	after the party, it's the

**Author's Note:**

> best read while listening to ignition remix. it's all [lucy](http://psycholinguistic.tumblr.com/)'s fault.

It’s true that Niall’s drunk, but he’s pretty positive that the huge crystal chandeliers high up on the ceiling are spinning when they stumble into the hotel in a boozy pack. The flash of cameras is still echoing behind his eyes, that pop of stars like champagne. Everything is bright lights and gold and Niall is staring up, mouth open and laughing in his throat. His footsteps are weaving into Louis’ as they cross the lobby, hip to hip, heading nowhere. He’s been riding an adrenaline high since the show and all the way through the party and across town in the car. 

“What time’s it?” Liam asks, flopping over the back of one of the leather couches across from the bank of reception desks.

“Two thirty-five a.m., sir,” supplies a hotel clerk in a polite but pointed tone. The few staffers still on duty are watching them with a mixture of interest, amusement and exhaustion. Harry’s got a girl on his arm, but she follows him over to where Liam is and they sit down, flushed and happy. They lost Zayn to Perrie and a separate car some time earlier. To be honest, Niall’s kind of surprised none of the rest of them are still wandering around drunk near the club. 

He laughs at this thought, and Louis turns to him, looking affronted at not being included in the joke. 

“What, Nialler,” he asks, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, but their faces are so close that it just makes Niall laugh more. He swats at Louis’ cheek, which of course only makes Louis attach himself more securely to Niall’s side. 

Harry’s girl is taking off her heels while Harry starts chucking throw pillows at Liam, raising a racket of giggling. Niall and Louis turn to look, a haphazard tangle of limbs, and Niall’s heel skids on the marble and he almost goes flying, arms wheeling. But Louis catches him around the waist, and then dips him low, almost dropping him on the floor anyway. 

“Fuck off,” Niall laughs, shoving at Louis as he stands up straight, but Louis just tugs him in again, their feet tripping over each other and chests together. Niall glances back and sees Harry giving them a knowing smirk. He grins and puts his face against the hot side of Louis’ neck, biting back the urge to mouth at it. He’s sleepy drunk and amped-up drunk and horny drunk all at the same time, all this energy and liquor and the ringing in his ears from their screaming audience earlier making him feel like he’s going to go crazy. 

“I’m buzzin’,” Louis announces to the lobby at large. There’s a whoop behind the back of one of the couches that presumably came from Liam, but Niall’s brain is having a little trouble with object permanence at the moment. It’s very hard to be this close to Louis’ skin and still talk himself out of licking it. 

“Would you like us to send up some complimentary champagne to your rooms?” asks the concierge standing by the elevators, polite but pointed once again. They must train them how to do that. Harry snorts. Louis’ fingers are snaking up Niall’s shirt at the small of his back, unacknowledged. He swipes his thumb over the dip of Niall’s spine and makes him squirm. 

"Would _you_ like,” Louis says, turning to Niall, “to go to the loo?”

“Yeah,” Niall says. His voice comes out hilariously rough and low with anticipation and Harry bursts out laughing across the room.

“He’s drunk,” Louis tells the peanut gallery on the couches as he steers Niall the opposite way, “bless him.”

The last thing Niall sees before Louis is pushing him into the lobby bathrooms is the concierge looking openly despondent, but then the door shuts and it’s a hush of cream-colored marble, the gleam of gold fixtures, and Louis, his smell above the potpourri a mix of cologne and sweat and liquor and something Niall’s probably imagining that’s just making him want Louis’ mouth on him, making him think he’s earned it. 

He opens his mouth to convey a probably nonsensical drunken version of this thought as he turns around in front of the bank of sinks, and Louis is right there, blue eyes all foggy with alcohol and a predatory smile on his lips, and he steps Niall up against the counter and puts both hands up the front of his shirt and starts to all but chew on his jaw. 

It knocks the breath out of Niall in a whoosh. He tips his head, grabbing at the skin of Louis’ hip beneath his too-small shirt and trying to get his mouth on Louis’ but Louis seems intent on marking him up first thing, which Niall can’t exactly complain about. The whole curvy line of Louis’ body is pressing into him, countertop digging into the small of his back and Niall’s own blunt nails digging into the small of Louis’. His other hand is in Louis’ hair and Louis’ hands are on his chest, his nose up under Niall’s ear, everything in a rush. Niall’s head is spinning again. 

It feels sort of like his knees might give out after a moment, and he does give brief consideration to dropping to them in front of Louis right there, but he doesn’t. Instead he half-detaches himself from Louis’ mouth and hops up into the space between two sinks behind him. It gives him a considerable height advantage, and he smirks downward at Louis looking all put out at being deprived of Niall’s neck to suck on. 

Niall takes pity, pulls him in between his knees with a hand at the front of his shirt. Louis has to go up on his toes with his head tipped back to see Niall properly, his fingers curling against Niall's stomach. The little frown on his face makes Niall feel utterly smug. 

“Not fair,” Louis whines, hot breath over Niall’s lips, and then Niall’s tongue is in his mouth. He locks his ankles behind Louis’ waist and grips at his hair at the nape of his neck to keep his chin pointing up, feeling Louis’ body straining with the angle and his own back bending down. 

Then Louis reaches between them and runs the heel of his hand over the front of Niall’s jeans, and Niall’s hips tick forward. 

“Jesus, Tommo,” Niall gasps, pulling back, “at least get me in a stall first.” 

“Sorry,” Louis says with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Where are my manners.” He grabs a little at Niall’s arse and the sides of his thighs, and just as Niall realizes he means to pick him up it’s happening, sort of. He half-falls off the countertop, laughing and hanging on to Louis’ shoulders, and then Louis is laughing too and the whole operation is falling apart quickly. Niall feels like he’s climbed up onto Louis to keep away from something gross on the floor. 

What Louis lacks in sober coordination he makes up for in drunken determination, though, and finally he’s got Niall hefted into his arms, Niall’s legs around his waist, and they wheel around together, stumbling. Niall’s back hits the divider between two bathroom stalls and he grunts, and then Louis is pushing one open with his knee and they’re tumbling inside. 

Louis pins Niall against the back of the door, pressing into him between his legs. “Down,” he pants. Niall’s legs drop, and maybe it’s the added layer of privacy or the exhilaration of a stunt like that not resulting in them just laughing in a heap on the floor, but when Louis braces an arm on one side of Niall’s shoulders and kisses him this time it’s something else entirely, messy and open and the confined space making all the sounds louder, Louis’ little whine when Niall sucks his lower lip hard into his mouth, Niall’s gasp as Louis rolls his hips forward and scrapes his teeth along Niall’s jaw in one moment and starts to fiddle with his flies. 

Niall’s got an inch on Louis, but Louis is still managing to bear down on him as he pulls back, grinning lopsided and wicked. One of his braces is coming down off his shoulder, and Niall wants -- just _wants_ , can’t think straight enough anymore to pick something specific. 

Louis’ fingers tease at Niall’s zip as he leans in close. “If I fucked you here,” he murmurs, licking his lips, “could you be quiet?”

“Honestly, I don’t think so.” Niall keeps his face straight for about three seconds before they both burst out laughing. It’s not like it’ll matter, anyway. 

“Shh,” Louis says through his giggling, dragging two fingers down Niall’s lips. Niall tongues at them, pulls one into his mouth and sucks at it idly. He watches, eyes downcast and vision swimming slightly, at Louis struggling to get Niall’s jeans open. 

“Need a hand, mate?” he says around Louis’ finger, teething at it in the process.

“No _thank_ you,” Louis mutters as he finally manages to get the button popped. He tugs the zip down and slides his hand into Niall’s briefs, and Niall isn’t snickering anymore then. He surges forward into Louis’ hand. 

“Such a biter,” Louis says, tugging his fingers away from Niall’s mouth. Niall finds himself chasing them without meaning to and flushes, bucking his hips up into Louis’ hand as Louis’ fingers go around the base of his dick.

“You hard for me, Ni?” he murmurs, scraping his teeth along the shell of Niall’s ear. The effect is somewhat lost in how he slurs the words, but Niall’s in no position to judge. He wedges his thigh between Louis’ and presses forward, pleased with the way Louis twists into him, fingers stuttering inside Niall’s briefs. 

“Were you saying something about fucking me, or,” Niall asks, trying to turn on his bedroom eyes and knowing full well he looks like an idiot, least of all considering they’re in a hotel lobby bathroom stall and not, in fact, a bedroom.

Louis snorts. He tugs down Niall’s denims until they’re crumpled around his calves, then runs his palms up the backs of Niall’s pale thighs, sliding them over his bum in his briefs and squeezing. “You are ridiculous,” he says, pronouncing the words in the careful way of the very drunk. 

“And you love it,” Niall says. He nips up under his jaw, pulling him in so they’re flush together and pressed at a haphazard angle against the stall wall, precariously close for a moment to the toilet. He hitches his hips against Louis’, looking for some friction. “Off with these,” he says into Louis’ jaw, tugging at his belt loops, making the one suspender still clinging to his shoulder snap. Louis is laughing, though Niall thinks there’s a little groan in there too as he sucks a line down the column of his throat. 

“Turn around, then,” Louis says, somewhere around Niall’s temple. Niall palms him cheekily before he does it, relishing the way it makes Louis’ expression shiver out of its smirk for a moment. Back turned, Niall braces his arms against the wall behind the toilet and waggles his bum in Louis’ general direction. He hears a snort of laughter, and then the sound of a zipper and Louis shucking his trousers. 

“I’ve no idea how we’re going to do this,” Louis says then, and Niall looks over his shoulder to see him quirking an eyebrow, chin in hand cartoonishly. 

“What, can’t we just -- I don’t know.” He looks around at the small space and feels utterly bested by its geometry. Louis is still laughing, eyes crinkling and his teeth flashing white. Niall is mesmerized by his face. 

“Foot up on the seat, you reckon?” Louis says after a few moments of earnest contemplation, nudging at the back of Niall’s knee with his own. 

“If you drop me in there I’m gonna run and tell Liam you were dunking me,” Niall says, grinning. But he tugs his briefs down over his semi and down his thighs, lifting a knee experimentally. It works well enough even with pant legs constricting him and he’s way too lazy to take his shoes off to make it better, and he plants a foot on the rim of the toilet. 

“Don’t move,” Louis says, right behind him, and Niall shivers as he feels Louis press up behind him momentarily in only his briefs, the line of his cock in the cleft of Niall’s arse. 

“Lou, c’mon.” He loves being drunk because it means he’s allowed to whine. But Louis pulls away, leaving Niall’s back feeling cold, and he hears the door of the stall swing open and shut. 

He leans his head against his arm on the wall, tugging on his dick with his other hand until it’s hard again. It needs constant entertainment when he’s drunk or it gets bored.

“Planning to come back sometime tonight?” he calls.

“Quiet,” Louis says, giggling as he steps back into the stall and locks the door, which strikes Niall as absurdly funny for some reason, and he laughs at Louis from beneath his raised arm. He seems to have hitched his trousers up using one suspender, but he lets them drop now and tugs his briefs down around his ankles. Even looking at his cock half-upside down Niall kind of wants, again, to turn back around and get on his knees for him, but he knows Louis wants him like this, and he wants Louis like this, and so he stays.

Louis smooths a hand up beneath Niall’s shirt over his stomach, palm flat, and then he’s sliding two slick fingers into him. 

“God,” Niall chokes out. It’s a surprise but not uncomfortable precisely. His nerves are dull with alcohol and he’s just hot all over waiting for it. “What’s -- what did you --”

“Lotion,” Louis says, laughing. “I don’t know, it was on the counter out there.” He pushes a knuckle deeper into Niall and just brushes at his prostate with the tips of his fingers, not nearly enough and still too much for Niall’s brain to handle with no warning. 

“Fuck,” Niall says, pushing back, leaning onto his bent knee for a better angle, “fuck, Louis.” He spreads one hand against the wall in front of him and reaches up to grab onto the top of the stall wall with the other.

Louis scrapes his teeth through Niall’s shirt beneath his shoulder, mouthing at the thin muscles against the lines of his ribs. “Love it when you say my name,” he mutters, barely coherent, all muffled by fabric and Niall’s back. “Been thinking about this, have you?” He strokes upward with the same two fingers again, spreading them slowly. 

“All day,” Niall gasps. His hips list, looking for Louis’ hand on his cock, more friction, anything. 

“Liar,” Louis says. He pushes a third slick finger into Niall along with the first two, bites at Niall’s shoulder and drops his hand down to palm at the underside of his cock. “I can -- shit, that’s a good lad,” he says on an appreciative groan as Niall fucks himself back onto Louis’ hand, whimpering. “I can name, like, at least two times you weren’t thinking about it.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Niall says, not knowing what he’s even saying anymore. His hips are going in pointless circles now looking for a little more pressure, feeling hot all the way up his chest. “Jesus, Lou, don’t tease.” 

“I don’t think the bloke with his foot in the toilet’s in any position to be giving orders.” Louis fans his fingers up Niall’s dick and and thumbs over the head. 

“ _On_ the toilet, will you get on with it?” Niall’s whining again but he doesn’t care. He knows Louis likes it, anyway. 

Louis pulls his hand away, leaving Niall feeling bereft for a moment. He looks back under his arm again. 

“You look funny,” Louis tells him, chewing on his lower lip and looking at Niall sideways as he slicks himself up with the lotion left in his palm. 

“Sexy, you mean,” Niall says. “Irresistible. Edible.” 

“Yes,” Louis says, “that.” He gives Niall’s arse a slap, then spreads him apart. “Ready, love?”

“I’m gonna sober up by the time you finally get ‘round to it,” Niall says to the wall. He’s trying to pack as much cheek as he can into the time Louis isn’t fucking him, because he knows he’s going to lose all his cred the second it starts up. 

Louis has a hand at his hip, thumb pressed into the fleshy part of his lower back, and then the blunt head of his cock is pressing against Niall and finally breaching him, excruciatingly slowly. Niall forces a sigh out between his teeth, eyes sliding closed. He leans forward and puts his forearm against the wall again, leaning his head against it. 

“So good, Nialler,” Louis breathes. His voice is rough around the edges and Niall looks over his shoulder to see Louis staring hazily at the spot where his dick is rocking up into Niall, sliding out of sight. 

“Shit,” Niall gasps, a little louder than he’d meant. 

“What did I tell you,” Louis murmurs, leaning forward and rolling his hips, almost bottomed out inside Niall now and draped over his back. He keeps the hand at Niall’s hip clutched tight and fists the other in his hair at the back of his head. Then he pulls his hips back and pushes them in again, all the way, harder this time. 

“Yeah,” Niall gasps, “c’mon.” He wants to fumble for Louis’ hip with one hand but thinks he’ll probably lose his footing if he lets go of the wall or the divider. “Lou, please,” he mumbles, the words breaking on a moan. 

“Quiet,” Louis mumbles into the space between Niall’s shoulders, “someone might hear.” And he slips his hand from Niall’s hair around to his mouth, pressing his palm against it. Niall’s groan is muffled behind it. He pushes back onto Louis’ dick as he thrusts in, feeling like a sprinter rocking back and forth on a starting block. His head is spinning again and closing his eyes makes it worse, so he focuses on the tile in front of his eyes and the heat that’s everywhere, the weight of Louis against him, his sharp hips feeling like they’re leaving bruises on Niall’s skin as they snap forward. It’s not exactly difficult to leave marks on Niall, but Louis is being none too gentle with him and, shit. Niall loves it, as per fucking usual.

He licks at Louis’ palm and Louis lets out a surprised giggle. “Oh god, stop that,” he says, tugging his hand away just as Niall goes to bite at the soft juncture of his thumb and his palm. He settles it at Niall’s other hip and holds him steady now as he gets into a real rhythm, fast and hard, starting to hit that spot inside Niall with a frequency that’s turning Niall’s mind into a hazy pulsing of Louis, Louis, Louis. 

“G’na come,” he mumbles, startling himself a little, “shit, on the _wall_ , Louis.” 

Louis just rocks into him again, hips flush against Niall, and then he rocks into him more until the head of his dick is rubbing into Niall just right, too much. Louis reaches around and skims his palm over Niall’s stomach just above the base of his cock, and it’s the fact that he doesn’t make good on the threat of that touch that has Niall twisting back and whimpering and biting his lip against something louder and more profane and then coming, hips jerking forward, up onto his own stomach and the wall behind the plumbing. 

“Ha,” Louis says, one half a laugh and the other a moan. He wraps himself around Niall, gone limp and warm and barely keeping himself folded into his delicate position, and he thrusts up two more times, hot bursts of breath on the back of Niall’s neck, before he’s pulling out a little haphazardly, and a moment later Niall feels wet splash onto his arse. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, unable to find the energy to pronounce the words much at all, “you’re such a shit.” It’s the best he can do. 

Louis lets out a sharp exhale, and Niall hears a thump. He turns to see Louis leaning against the side of the stall, flushed and grinning, his trousers still all around his ankles. 

“God, I can’t feel my arms,” Niall groans. He clambers down gingerly from his half-perch, stretching and then slumping against Louis’ shoulder. Louis turns his face into Niall’s temple, pressing an absent kiss into his hair. 

“I honestly can’t believe we managed that,” he says. “Hope I remember how . That took coordination, didn’t it, Ni?” He pinches Niall’s side. Niall smushes up against him, boneless, and kisses him with his arms around his waist, licking sleepily into his warm mouth.

“You’re a mess,” Louis tells him fondly when they break apart, his eyelids drooping. He hands him a wad of tissue and starts to pull his clothes back on. 

“My fuckin’ hero,” Niall says, not insincerely. He wipes himself off, and does the wall for good measure, wrinkling his nose before dropping it all in the toilet and flushing. 

“There’s our cover story,” Louis says, tugging his braces back onto his shoulders. 

“I bet they’ve gone up,” Niall says, using what feels like the very last of his coordination to struggle back into his trousers. 

Louis hip-checks him as he holds the stall door open for them to exit, almost sending them both tumbling to the floor again, and they’re both laughing as he mouths at Niall’s shoulder, tripping along behind him to herd him in the direction of the door. “Think they still sent up that champagne?”


End file.
